


Reflections

by YouMadeMeAWholePerson



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, season seven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouMadeMeAWholePerson/pseuds/YouMadeMeAWholePerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully looks back on her changing relationship with Mulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after I'd been reading a lot of angsty stories about the beginning of Mulder and Scully's relationship in season seven- all of which I really do love, but this is my not-so-angsty take on what happened between them. It focuses on early to mid-season 7.

Sometimes she'd be at work and hear something strange or funny, and her first instinct would be to turn and see what he thought about it. It didn't seem to matter that she was in scrubs and not a Donna Karen suit, or that she wearing a stethoscope around her neck instead of a gun on her hip. It used to bother her, but now she realized she didn't mind it so much. Yes, it reminded her of weird cases, bad motel rooms, and autopsies performed in the middle of the night. But it also reminded her of that look Mulder got in his eye when he made a break in a case, and how he'd bring a book on stakeouts and ask her to read to him, and the delighted smile that would break out on his face whenever she would unexpectedly agree with him about something.

Was it any wonder she had fallen in love with him?

She wondered if other couples talked about when they had fallen in love, or said the actual words, or made love for the first time. She wondered if it was something they laughed about over breakfast or while out to dinner with friends.

She and Mulder didn't talk about those things. She wasn't good at it; never knew exactly how to put what she was thinking and feelings into words. And even if she could, there was something inside her that just wouldn't let it come out. But that was ok, because he was mostly the same way. She found that to be a huge relief, and expected he felt the same about her.

However, that wasn’t to say that she didn't think about these things. She thought about them all the time. They were good memories, wonderful memories. Admittedly, she couldn't remember when she had actually fallen in love with him. The conclusion she had drawn was that it wasn't a singular moment so much as a culmination of thousands of little ones.

But she does remember the first time they made love.

The circumstances surrounding that night were remarkable because of just how unremarkable they had been. She'd be lying if she said that back then she hadn't wondered if it would ever happen. But in her mind, it was always a near death experience or a particularity brutal case that sent them to bed together.

But it had been a Tuesday. A regular, run of the mill Tuesday. They'd gotten back from a case in Virginia the night before and were in the office finishing up their report on the death of Max Harden. She flipped a coin and Mulder had lost, so he was getting ready to go run the report up to Skinner. As she grabbed her coat and briefcase, she made a comment about how her mom had given her three pounds of chicken parmesan to take home on Sunday. Mulder's eyes lit up at the mention of homemade food, and the look on his face was so endearing that she laughed a little and asked if he wanted to come over for dinner that night.

To this day, whenever chicken parmesan was mentioned, Mulder would give her a smile that made her blush.

So he'd come over and they'd eaten dinner on the floor in the living room while watching Jeopardy. Afterwards they took their plates into the kitchen and were cleaning up when she found herself watching him as he tried unsuccessfully to re-wrap the casserole dish with tin foil. He tried for a full forty five seconds before he realized he was being watched. And then he stared back. She wasn't sure who moved first: in her braver moments, she liked to think it was her, though really, she is about eighty percent sure it was him.

Either way, they found themselves kissing in her kitchen, Mulder clutching a badly mangled sheet of tin foil in his hand as Scully stood on her tiptoes to reach his mouth.

She remembers that after a few seconds, the tin foil dropped to the ground as one of his hands gripped her waist and the other came up to cup her face. As his thumb slowly moved back and forth across her cheek, she remembers thinking that she hadn't kissed anyone in years, and she hoped she wasn't embarrassing herself. But then they were making their way to the bedroom and she heard a quiet groan escape his mouth and she remembers feeling confident that it was not an issue.

Afterwards, she froze. They were lying next to each other, his left hand still clutching her right one as they tried to catch their breath. She was so sure that Mulder was either going to tell her that it had been a mistake or profess his undying love for her. She wasn't sure which one she'd hate more. Though a little unexpected, it certainly hadn't been a mistake for her. And even though she loved him and knew he loved her, she wasn't ready to hear it, and she wasn’t ready to say it. She remembers mentally preparing herself for whatever came next, a sinking feeling spreading in her stomach.

But then he leaned over and brushed some hair out of her face and asked if she was thirsty. She was so pleasantly caught off guard that she laughed a little. As relief swept through her, she told him yes: yes she was thirsty, yes some water would be great, yes, thanks. He smiled and got up, returning a minute later with two glasses. They drank them side by side in bed, and she remembers thinking that it should probably feel awkward. But it didn't. Not at all.

************************************

The most wonderful thing that happened after that night was that not a lot changed. They were still partners, they were still friends. They still argued while investigating invisible monsters and video games gone awry. He still had no problem ditching her occasionally, and she had no problem insisting he do his fair share of paperwork.

She was so thankful. 

Really, the only thing that changed was that once or twice a week they spent the night together. It surprised them both how easy it was. Sometimes he'd come over to her place after work and they'd watch TV and bicker about stories on the news and trade smiles over plates of Chinese takeout. Eventually one of them would work up the nerve to lean over and kiss the other, and they'd make their way to the bedroom. He'd stay the night, and they'd sleep close together but not quite touching. At first, she figured that years of sleeping alone had conditioned them to want some personal space, but even now, so many years later, they still slept the same way. It was just who they were, and she took a small amount of pride in knowing they had always been able to be themselves around each other.

Sometimes they'd spend the night together in a hotel room while on a case. Usually his, because she'd hear the TV blasting after she got out of the shower and she'd put on pajamas and grab her book and go sit on his bed and pretend to read while he'd narrate whatever sporting event was on. She'd roll her eyes when he claimed that the referees were conspiring against the Knicks that night and he'd grab her book and comment that by this point, she should be able to recite Moby Dick from memory. Then his hand would suddenly be on her leg, and her shirt would suddenly be on the floor.

Things were good.

She occasionally wondered in those first few months if they should maybe have a discussion about what they were doing. She read an article one day in Cosmo while waiting at the dentist's office that said you should only sleep with a man after you've exchanged "I Love You's" and had "properly" defined your relationship. She cringed internally, because technically she and Mulder had done neither. But then she was sitting in the chair as a young woman wearing far too much make-up cleaned her teeth and she suddenly, rebelliously thought, "Fuck it". Her cheeks flushed a little at the vulgar sentiment, and the woman asked if the light was too warm.

On her way home, she decided that whatever it was they were doing was perfect, or more specifically, perfect for them. They obviously loved each other. She may not be ready to hear or say it, but who needed words when you had a man that tried to hide the fact that he'd eaten pasta for two months after using his entire life savings to go to Antarctic and save her from an alien virus? 

And as for defining whatever it was they were, well, the truth was, she couldn't. The thought of calling him her boyfriend made her ridiculously, unbelievably uncomfortable, and they were obviously much more than “friends with benefits” or “fuck buddies” or whatever the hell those terms were that she used to hear Charlie and his college roommate discuss at length. Fidelity wasn’t an issue she spent any time worrying about on either of their parts, though, she supposed, it was something that was possibly worth discussing. But then she thought about when they were making love and how his body would cover hers and his hands would gently hold her head and he would shyly tell her how beautiful she was and how he would kiss her and kiss her and kiss her until she came, and she knew without a doubt that she would never ever want to be with anyone but him. She was confident he felt the same.

So what were they, then? She remembers making a decision then and there, sitting in the car with gums that were bleeding slightly from her cleaning, that he was her partner. It was a term that fit them as perfectly back then as it did today. 

**************************** 

Eventually they ended up saying “I love you” to each other, about a month after her dentist chair epiphany. They had spent the better part of the week out in California, and even though she had ended up temporarily blind because of a man wielding a voodoo doll in her likeness, she was in a fairly decent mood.

She remembers that things were particularly good between them at the time. In the week before that case, they had spent two nights together at his apartment and two nights at hers. It was way more time together than usual, but it had happened naturally and they weren’t questioning it. So she was feeling light and happy as they exited the plane in California, and hadn’t realized for a full minute that the man standing next to her at baggage claim was shamelessly flirting with her. Mulder was about 10 feet away, staring intently at the corral, but she could tell he could hear every word they were saying. The man seemed nice enough, and she never quite knew what to do in situations like that, and Mulder was clearly staying put, so she ended up just standing there responding politely to his questions until she was able to excuse herself to go grab her bag on the corral that had mercifully started to move.

As they made their way to check in at the hotel before going to the crime scene, Mulder was quiet. She wondered if he was bothered by the man at baggage claim. She looked at his face as he fiddled with the radio, and he didn’t seem particularly mad or stressed, so she chalked his silence up to their long flight. It wasn’t until after he had purposefully walked through the connecting door to her hotel room and her skirt was bunched up around her waist and her fingernails were digging sharply into his head that she decided American Airlines was most certainly not to blame for his silence. She remembers thinking she should probably be offended or angry or hell, even a little more professional, but then he shifted his mouth slightly and she dug her nails in a little deeper and she couldn’t remember being able to think about anything else. 

Afterwards, she wasn’t quite sure what to say. She was trying to form a sentence in her head but then he shrugged his shoulders and with a slightly smug smile on his face told her, “I’ll always keep you guessing." She laughed, pushed down her skirt, and told him they were going to be late to the crime scene. Forty-five minutes later they were staring at the word “theef” written in blood on the wall of the victim’s living room, but her mind was still back in the hotel room. 

It certainly didn’t help her concentration when he teased her about her sarcastic comment and told her, “You see that Scully, you always keep me guessing." She smiled as he walked away.

So yes, she was in a good mood, voodoo dolls aside. It was Sunday afternoon, and she hadn’t seen Mulder since he dropped her off after their flight home on Friday. It was around noon when she heard a knock on her door. It was him, of course, and he had an excited expression on his face. She didn’t immediately smile back, because she’d seen that look before. It usually preceded a long monologue about a new case, and she sighed because it was Sunday, and because her favorite movie was on TV, and because she had a chicken roasting in the oven, and mostly because she knew that she probably wouldn’t be able to say no to him. 

But instead of a case file, he pulled out a large bag from behind his back. He presented it to her, and she looked inside and was completely taken aback. Inside were twenty or so bags of candy, a candy she had bought one time on a case probably five years ago in a small town in Indiana. It was some sort of chocolate and caramel that she’d never seen before but ended up being the best candy she’d ever had. She told him a few weeks later that she’d looked for it here in DC, but couldn’t remember the name and couldn’t seem to find it. It became a running joke between them; every time they’d go to a new city she’d look for that candy, and he’d give her his most sympathetic frown when she turned up empty handed.  
She asked him where in the world he had found it, and then the man who still had trouble remembering her birthday nonchalantly told her he had figured out which store they had gone to in Indiana and gave them a call to get the name of the candy, and when the store owner told him the name but that he unfortunately no longer sold it, had tracked down the manufacturer, and when they told him it had recently been discontinued but there was actually a supermarket chain in England they had shipped their final boxes of the candy to last month, he had called around until he found a young man who worked at one of those grocery stores who agreed to let Mulder wire him some money and who then bought the candy and shipped it to Mulder. First class. “Because at that point," Mulder said with a smile, “I wasn’t about to take any chances.” 

The words were out of her mouth before she even realized it. They hung in the air, and though she wasn’t exactly sorry she had finally told him she loved him, she knew a lot depended on what happened next. He was clearly surprised, and remained quiet for a few seconds. Then the sides of his mouth turned up and he replied, “You see that Scully, you always keep me guessing”.

It was, she recalled, the most wonderful, most perfect response she could have possibly imagined. 

She remembers dropping the bag of candy on the couch and stepping forward to give him a kiss. She remembers how she led him to the bedroom and undressed him with a new found boldness. She remembers that they made love with the lights on in the middle of the afternoon as the chicken, long forgotten, slowly burned in the oven. And she remembers how afterwards, as he was spooned up behind her gently kissing her neck, had quietly told her that he loved her too. 

Up until that moment, she had thought that hearing those words wouldn’t matter. That it wouldn’t really change anything, because it wasn’t that important. She had never been so pleased to be proven wrong.

THE END


End file.
